Heather’s mind raced. She didn’t want to comply, but she didn’t know what to do. She’d screwed up. Royally. “Okay. Okay. I’m coming,” she assured him, automatically raising her hands.
The instant she reached the lower ledge, DiMona grabbed her arm, directed her to toss the stone away—which she did, reluctantly—and dragged her over to the position he’d occupied overlooking the meadow below.
For an instant, Heather stared at him in shock. He hadn’t searched her! He didn’t know she was armed! And with the gun firmly concealed by the tail of her blouse and the waistband of her jeans, he wouldn’t know until… Heather flicked a glance skyward. Thank you, God. Now if you could just spare a little guidance…
“Hey, cop,” DiMona yelled abruptly, startling Heather. “I’ve got your girlfriend. Come on out and maybe we’ll talk.”
“What are you doing?” Heather demanded. “You shot him. How can he possibly come out?” She hoped to convince DiMona that Court was either dead or too far gone to be a threat. It didn’t work.
“Don’t worry, honey,” he said. “Your turn is comin’. I just have a little loose end to tie up below, and then you and I are gonna…talk.” He smiled, his gaze flicking to her breasts and then back up to her face.
The gesture sent a chill down her spine. “I’d rather be dead.” Heather all but spat the words.
His smiled faded as though it had never been. “Oh, don’t worry. You will be. Eventually.”
“Bastard!” Heather kicked him in the shin and tried to jerk her arm from his grasp.
Without warning, DiMona’s fist shot out, catching her on the jaw. Heather fell hard. Dazed, barely conscious, she fought against the blackness that threatened to swamp her. Court needed her.
She stared blearily at DiMona’s back as he shouted to Court again. “Come on out, Morgan. And maybe I’ll let your girlfriend live.” DiMona was ignoring her now, obviously not considering her to be a threat. Crawling, staying low to avoid attracting his attention, Heather began to work her way closer to him.
“That’s it,” DiMona yelled. And to her horror, Heather saw that Court, using the tree limb as a cane, was limping into the open.
“No! No! No!” she murmured, coming to her feet. Damn him and his selfless hero makeup. He seemed to be willing to let DiMona kill him on the off chance that doing so would save Heather’s life.
“Let her go!” Court shouted from below. “She’s no threat to you.”
DiMona pretended to consider. “Nah, I can’t do that.” And then he lifted the rifle to sight down its barrel as he targeted Court.
The time for thinking was over. It was time for Heather to face her fear…and conquer it. Reacting instinctively, she jerked the handgun from the waistband of her jeans and stepped quickly forward to press the muzzle firmly beneath DiMona’s jaw. He froze.
“Pull that trigger and you’re dead in the next second. You got that?”
“Sure. Sure. I got it, little girl. Just take it easy. You wouldn’t want that thing to go off accidentally.”
“Wouldn’t I?” She wasn’t so certain of that herself. “Drop the gun.” As he made a movement that startled her, she barked, “Slowly! Or this just might go off.”
He slowly lowered the gun to the ground. “Okay little girl. You’re in control. Now what?”
Heather glanced quickly down into the meadow. Where was Court? She stepped back from DiMona. “Move over there.” She indicated the spot where she’d landed when he’d punched her. “Sit down.”
DiMona sat. “I know all about you, Heather. I know what happened to you when you were younger. I know how much you hate guns.”
“Shut up!” The darned gun was heavier than she’d expected, especially when she had to keep holding it out at arm’s length. Without taking her eyes off DiMona, she shouted for Court. “Court, I’ve got him.”
There was no response. Damn! Maybe he’d lost consciousness from blood loss. If so, she was on her own and she’d better figure out what to do.
She bit the inside of her bottom lip thoughtfully. She needed to tie him up, but even if she’d had some rope she didn’t want to risk getting close enough to him to him to disarm her. So, tying him up was out of the question.
“You’re so frightened you’re shaking, Heather,” DiMona observed. “Why don’t you put that gun down and admit that you haven’t got it in you to kill me. You probably couldn’t even hit me.”
“Oh, I could hit you all right,” she assured him as she stole another glance down into the meadow, seeking Court. Where was he?
Then DiMona made a swift and unexpected movement, drawing a small pistol from behind his back. Reacting instinctively, knowing that he planned to kill her, Heather fired. Her accuracy was perfect, hitting him right where she’d aimed, in the right shoulder. The bullet wound threw his aim off, and knocked him back so that his bullet whistled harmlessly by Heather’s ear. Racing forward while he was still stunned, she kicked the small handgun he’d dropped out of his reach and then stepped back to a safe distance. Surprise flared in DiMona’s cold, cold eyes as he gripped his wounded shoulder.
Adrenaline reaction pounded through Heather’s veins. She could hear her pulse in her ears. Feel the trembling in her limbs. She gulped oxygen, trying to slow her frantic heartbeat.
“I see you’ve gotten over your fear,” DiMona observed.
Numbed by the realization that she’d actually shot another human being, Heather could only stare at him. The depths of her own paralysis stunned her, and she realized that she had never really believed herself capable of shooting another human being. Oh, she’d told herself she could do what was necessary, but she hadn’t really believed in herself. She’d thought herself too weak, too dependent on others: counsellors, doctors, her fiancé.
Oh, she and Des had been alone for a long time now. But that was in the normal world. Deep down, she always believed that, if it came down to the crunch in a situation where she needed to be strong, she’d fail herself…and Des. Just as she had ten years ago. But now…now she’d surprised herself by being more capable than she’d ever dreamed possible. And deep down, where the fear of failure had always resided, she felt a burgeoning sense of confidence.
A groan from DiMona brought her out of her paralysis. It wasn’t time to celebrate yet. Her nemesis, although in pain, was still very much alive. And, if she didn’t do something quickly, he could very well find a way to exact his revenge on her. But, what to do without placing herself within his grasp?
“Heather! Heather, answer me damn it! Are you all right?” It was Court. He was alive! Conscious!
“I’m fine,” she called, still not daring to take her eyes off of DiMona. “We’re here.”
A moment later, Court came limping up the path carrying his rifle and using the stout branch as a cane. He must have gotten to the horses. She studied him worriedly, dividing her attention carefully between DiMona and Court. “What about you?” she asked. “How are you doing?”
“I’ll live a while longer,” he assured her, studying her closely. “What’s this?” He ran his fingertips gently over her jaw.
At his touch, Heather involuntarily jerked away. Then, seeing the anger flare in his eyes, she tried to minimize the issue. “Just a bruise,” she said with a shrug. “It’ll heal.” She didn’t want Court angry until they were out of this.
Court cast a scathing look at DiMona who was sitting watching them with a smirk on his face. “I’d like nothing better than to see you dead, DiMona. Just give me a reason.”
DiMona eyed him coldly, but said nothing.
Court looked back at Heather. “I need to loosen this tourniquet for a moment. Watch him closely, okay? If he moves, shoot him.” He eyed the blood staining DiMona’s shoulder and smiled coldly. “Again.” Then brushing tender fingers over Heather’s uninjured cheek he asked, “Okay?”
What he was really asking was if she thought she could handle more. She nodded and murmured, “Okay.”
Setting his
rifle down at his side, Court sat down next to the handgun that she’d kicked away from DiMona and carefully loosened the tourniquet. “I brought the horses,” he informed her. “They’re at the foot of the path. And help’s on the way.”
She looked at him in surprise. “How—”
“The cell phone worked. It was a bit staticky, but it got through.”
Relief flooded through her. They were going to make it!
Court’s room at the hospital was bright and sunny. After hours with all of Court’s family present, Heather and Court had finally been left alone. DiMona was in custody and being flown back to Seattle. Ernest had called to let Court know they’d found enough pictorial evidence in DiMona’s safety deposit box—once they’d tracked it down—to ensure that DiMona never saw the light of day outside a prison wall again. And, although Court was still pale, the doctor had said that he would recover completely from the bullet wound to his leg and the loss of blood.
Heather firmly stroked her hands over Court’s foot, soothing the muscles in a gentle massage designed to stimulate blood flow and the healing process. He groaned, and her hands stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
He shook his head and her hands resumed their action. “Damn, that feels good,” he murmured.
Heather smiled. “It’s supposed to.” She paused and grew serious. She owed this man so much. “Des told me what you did for him. And, well, I wanted to say thank you.”
Court shrugged. “I just put in a good word for him.”
A pretty weighty good word, if Heather wasn’t mistaken. “Well, community service here in Montana while he takes a job with Kenzie is a far sight better than a jail term. And it gives him a chance to turn his life around.”
“Forget it!” Court said. “It was no problem.” Since her gratitude seemed to make him uncomfortable, Heather fell silent.
But a moment later, it was Court who broke the silence. “Heather—”
Warned by the seriousness of his tone, Heather lifted her gaze to meet his. “Yes?”
“Remember…out there…when I said that I had something to tell you, too?”
She nodded.
He cleared his throat. “Well, do you recall me telling you that I was finally starting to feel more accepting of Carly’s death? Less guilty about all the shouldas, wouldas, couldas?” Heather nodded, and he continued. “Well, I’ve been thinking for a while now about leaving the DEA and coming back to Montana. It’s home, and I’ve missed it.”
No longer able to meet his gaze, Heather looked out the window. He was trying to tell her that he was leaving Seattle and that he wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. She swallowed and tried to focus on his words.
“Anyway, Chance says that the sheriff’s position in Big Springs is coming up for reelection next month and that I’d be a shoo-in. Even if I don’t get it though, Mom’s been trying to get me to take over the northeast quarter for years.”
Heather nodded, suppressing her own pain, focusing on what would be best for Court. “I think that’s a great idea. It’s easy to see that you’re a wide-open-spaces type of person at heart. And I think you’d make a wonderful small-town sheriff.”
“You’re sure?” Court asked. “It won’t bother you being married to a guy that carries a gun?”
“I’m not as bothered by guns as I was. I guess—” Heather’s mouth froze in an open position as the words Court had said finally sank in. She was left openmouthed and speechless.
“Well?”
Heather closed her mouth. “Um…are you asking me to marry you?”
Court frowned. “Well, of course I am. What in blazes did you think I was talking about?”
Heather smiled. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
“So…will you?” he prompted, his expression beginning to take on a decidedly disgruntled cast. “Can you handle being married to a small-town sheriff?”
Heather considered the question with mock seriousness, despite the fact that her heart was racing with happiness. Finally, she said, “Oh, yeah. I think I can handle that just fine.”
“You do?” Court seemed surprised.
“I do.”
“Whew! That was way easier than I thought it was going to be.”
“Oh, well, in that case, perhaps I should think about it a bit.”
He grinned. “Too late. You’re mine. Now come here and let me kiss you properly.”
Being careful not do jostle his leg, Heather complied. Happily.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-1733-1
UNDERCOVER WITH THE ENEMY
Copyright © 2000 by Sharry C. Michels
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.
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Table of Contents
Letter to Reader
Dedication
Books by Christine Michels
About the Author
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Copyright
Undercover with the Enemy Page 19
